


Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, F/M, M/M, art heist, artist!Cas, cas paints, characters will be added, famous paintings will be mentioned that I only have wikipedia knowledge on, kinda based off white collar, samjess - Freeform, slightly betaed, tags will be added as there are more chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working under the FBI division of White Collar, stolen art works and forged bonds, Agents Dean and Sam Winchester are assigned a case involving one of the oldest, richest, and most notorious families in Europe: The Novaks. Their art heist has brought them to the States, but when Dean meets Castiel under a different identity where he's chosen to long con the FBI to be able to steal one of the world's most expensive paintings. When it gets stolen before his family has time to steal it first, The Novaks are recruited by the FBI to steal it back, blowing Castiel's cover as Jimmy Milton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

The conference room of the FBI’s White Collar division was sweltering. Agent Dean Winchester had already loosened his tie to the point where he might have not been wearing it, his blazer discarded behind him over the chair. His brother, also an agent, Sam, had borrowed a hair tie from Jo Harvelle, and tied his nearly shoulder length hair back, also discarding his blazer. Jo and Jessica Moore had already tied their hair back, and Jo had already unbuttoned her shirt more than the FBI probably wanted. 

Not that Dean was complaining, it just would’ve been better if she wasn’t wearing a cami under it and he could properly look. When he leaned forwards, he got a good smack from Sam on the back of the head. No one batted an eyelash as Henriksen continued to explain. 

“These,” Victor Henriksen said, flipping through pictures of eleven people, three without pictures, “Are people part of an elaborate art heisting group. The Novak family. Very old, very rich.” 

The Novaks were originally eight siblings, the oldest being Zachariah, followed by twins Michael and Lucifer. Then came sister Naomi, Raphael, Gabriel, Anna, and then Castiel. The FBI was unaware of Anna and Castiel’s living. Anna having a different father as Castiel had a different mother, their birth certificates were deleted and burned from any database out of shame. When they went to heist in Greece, Lucifer met Lilith, who was soon jailed in a Greek prison. He bailed her out, soon getting married and having a daughter, named Abaddon.   
They were from a large, rural expanse in Nice, France. After their father disappeared and left their mother with eight of them and no job. That’s when Zachariah, Michael, and Lucifer took matters into their own hands.

Sam raised his hand, “Three pictures are missing.”

Henriksen looked at him, “I’m getting to that part. You’re getting like your brother.”

“Offense,” Dean said. “Go on, though. I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

Henriksen nodded, bringing up the three faceless names. “All we have are their code names. ‘Cassy-Cat,’ ‘Isis,’ and ‘Apophis.” 

“Cassy-Cat seems more like a family pet name,” Sam noted, “Like Dean calls me Sammy.”

“Right, Cassy-Cat is seeming to be the ringleader. And we picked up the nickname by lipreading on security footage from Gabriel.” Henriksen showed a picture of the middle child, hair long and pushed back, his nose broken and newly realigned in his Interpol mug shot. Henriksen passed out the case files to the White Collar agents around the conference table. Agents Sam and Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle, and Jessica Moore.

“Jo, I want Ash’s help with this. Jess, bring in Bela,” Henriksen, ordered, “Break.”

Bela Talbot, the White Collar division’s current CI, caught fencing years ago, signed a deal with Bobby Singer, the chief, through Dean Winchester. She’s no one’s favorite, but an astonishing asset. 

“Man, when are they going to get the air fixed?” Dean asked as he followed Sam out of the conference room, “My hair’s gonna look terrible. Not as bad as your girl hair, but, damn.”

Sam sighed, “Shut up, Dean. Go back to being a pain in the ass.”  
“I’ll have your job, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

 

At the end of the day, Dean came down from his office meeting up with Sam at his younger brother’s desk. Sam slung his briefcase over his shoulder, “You know, as I read more about these Notorious Novaks, I’m starting to admire their work more.” 

Dean looked up from his phone, “Don’t ever call them that again.”

“What?” Sam asked, giving Dean a bemused look as they left the building, “Notorious Novaks? C’mon, it’s good.”

As they entered the elevator, Dean bitchfaced his brother, “And what’s the ringmaster, Catman? Batman? Cat Woman?”

“Cat Woman was Bela,” Sam said, pressing the button on the elevator to the ground floor, “And there was something missing from the file.”

“Hm?” Dean asked, putting his phone back in his briefcase, “What was it?”

“How come all of the brothers walked?”

Dean got off of the elevator before answering as they walked to his ‘67 Chevy Impala, pulling open the driver’s side door, “The paintings miraculously turned up. They couldn’t keep them.”

Sam got in the passenger side, turning down the classic rock music that had been playing loudly on the way to work, “What’s going to be for dinner?”

“I don’t know, Sammy, I’m not your cook,” Dean said, putting the car into gear and driving to their apartment. 

Sam huffed, “Why are the Novaks even on our list right now?”

Dean sighed as they reached the stoplight, “I don’t know. I think they’re in town.” He watched the light, sitting back as his hand rested loosely on the steering wheel. As the light changed, Dean took the casual turn down the street they lived, “Why?”

Sam shrugged, “I thought they were Interpol’s problem.”

“Why would you think that?” Dean asked, driving into the parking garage below the building.

“They’re French,” Sam said, “They mostly hit things in Europe. What’s here that they could want?”

Dean thought for a second, “My boobs. I don’t know, Sammy. Let’s just, forget about it, okay? It’s the night, let’s get some take out, watch A Game of Thrones, and then get our four hours, please?”  
Sam sighed, getting out after Dean, “Alright, what are we eating?”

“I was thinking maybe some Greek,” He said as he locked the car, heading over to the elevator, pressing the button to go up, “And one last work thing.”

A groan came from Sam, “I thought you said we were done talking about it.”

“Yeah, well, how long do you think you can stay married to a convicted felon?”

“Why, Dean? Why would you be thinking that?”

Dean smiled as he got off the elevator on their floor, looking over at Sam, heading down the hall, “Because, let’s face it, Lucifer’s wife? Lilith? She’s smoking.”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”


End file.
